Photo Albums

Doodles

July 25, 2005

Rome: Papal Bull

I was paying a long-overdue visit to the eternal city and had taken in most of the sites when I realised that the Vatican was still on my list of "things to see".

Never was a big fan of old JP2, the last bloke in charge there, and was pleased to see that this time round my old mate Joe "Ratzo" Ratzinger had been given the nod for the top spot. Now me and Ratzo go way back. He'd be the first to tell you how we both signed up for the Traunstein chapter of the Hitler Youth back in '41. Heck, I even had to lend him my scarf toggle that one time before the big parade. Lousy goosestepper, too, try as he might. Don't know how he became an anti-aircraft gunner though, couldn't hit the side of a synagogue at ten paces.

Now ol' Ratzo was a bit of a lad in his day, but from all accounts has turned into a bit of a geezer. Dresses to the right, if you get my drift. And a bit anti- pretty much anything. You can see that I wwould be keen to see what had become of my erstwhile chum and sparring partner since he taken the oath.

So it was that I ventured out on a sunny Monday afternoon for a little informal chat. I figured that would be the pefect time, he'd have just wrapped up for the week (Sunday is always a big day for men of the cloth) and wouldn't need to start hammering up his next sermon and nut out an order of service until at least Wednesday... so he'd be sure to have a few minutes for an old comrade-at-arms.

So I rock up the the Vatican and ask, "Where's old Ratzo?", little realising they call him Benedict XVI these days. This stony faced padre tells me I'd have to make an appointment with the press office. After I'd come all this way. Sheesh! Not just that, but I'd need to show some press credentials.

Luckily I still carry my Concordia College School Newspaper Reporters Club card. And so it was, the next day, I front up at the Vatican Press office and request a few words with his Holier-than-thou-ness. "The Pope rarely, if ever talks to the press," a rattled press officer tells me.

"How can you tell?" says I, "He's only been in the job a couple of weeks -- hardly time to set any noticeable trends." Disdainfully returning my press card, she informs me that the Pope gives a public audience every Wednesday morning and I'd be welcome to join the faithful.

Imagine my surprise when I show up at 10 in the morning, expecting maybe a couple of people in front of me at the reception desk, to see a heaving throng of 30,000 people, all fumbling with their rosaries and staring straight ahead. Crikey, I can't even see where the bloody queue starts and finishes. Next thing you know, out pops Ratzo's head from a second story window. Looks like he's not even gonna even take a lousy confessional. He mutters something in Latin, crosses himself and then starts backing away from the window. And with a swirl of his cape, he's off. Like a Bride's nightie.

I don't quite know what happened next. But he slunk back inside. Next thing you know the crowd has parted like the Red Sea and a swarm of Swiss guards come storming towards me. Now, someone should have a word with these guys about military guile in general, and camouflage in particular. Unless you wanted to infiltrate a court jester's convention, there's no way you could blend into the background in these fancy togs.

I'll have to talk my way out of this one. "Hey, it's cool. I used to be a guard myself: Concordia College basketball team, 1983. I know all about silly uniforms too."

Not known for their sense of humour, the guards surround me, lances pointing at all the bits that could use them least. Looks like I'm gonna be the swiss cheese at their little ecuemenical fondue party. This is it: only one ball to go before stumps, so I better chance my arm.

"Look! Behind you!" I below and point frantically in a vaguely papal direction.

Not only does the entire Swiss garrison turn as one, but so does the the rest of that 30,000-strong congregation. And before you could rattle off an Ave Maria, I'm out of there like the devil at daybreak.

Well, times change and so, I guess, do earnest young goosesteppers. Still, I managed to raid the offering plate as I rounded the corner out of the Piazza, so the day wasn't a total fizzer. Strangely enough, all I picked up were a couple of raincoat buttons and a parking token.